


Green Paint

by mrvvrench



Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, M/M, Masturbation, PWP, Sexting, Texting, numbers is away on a solo case, very vague traces of a humiliation kink, wrench does home improvement while numbers is forced to go to a small town event
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 07:47:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1932618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrvvrench/pseuds/mrvvrench
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Numbers is given a solo case and leaves Wrench at home. When he arrives in town he finds out about a festival and Wrench insists he go in exchange for household chores. Reluctantly, Numbers agrees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Green Paint

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I got this request a million years ago from [Martin](http://misternumbers.tumblr.com/) to write about Numbers and Wrench being separated and texting each other dirty things. Since I'm completely incapable of control, I just kinda... added more. 
> 
> Anyway, I know this kind of defies the technical timeline of Fargo, seeing as their phones are far better than what 2006 had to offer. But I really don't care and you just have to view it as they're doing this in present time and Malvo never happened or whatever else helps you sleep at night like me.....
> 
> Anyway. So this is my tenth Wrenchers fic.... and I'm probably not going to stop any time soon so. Also I thought about illustrating this, but I didn't have enough time, if I wanted to ever upload it ever. But yeah.   
> Anyway
> 
> I hope you enjoy it.

The phone vibrates in the bed somewhere and Wrench hastily digs through the covers to find it. If Numbers saw him, he would have laughed so hard and teased him about it until the day Wrench dies. But that’s the exact reason he’s rifling through the bed like he’s lost something far more important than a cellphone.

Numbers is several towns away right now, on a small job that Fargo didn’t want to pay both of them for. He would only be gone a few days, or so, depending on how easily the job went. The older hit man was competent and could hold his own and Wrench was only a little worried about his partner. More than anything, however, he missed Numbers like crazy.

The hit man finds his phone under the sheets of their shared bed. Plucking it up quickly, he unlocks the screen with giant, excited fingers. He’s got two texts and he can only assume they’re both from his partner. Only a handful of people have his number, and even fewer text unless it’s a holiday. The first is a multimedia message that Wrench hits download on immediately. The other is just Numbers telling him he got into town safely. The picture finishes downloading and it’s a view of a rather decent hotel room. Well shit, looks like Numbers treats himself when Wrench has to stay home. That little shit.

**Why don’t we stay anywhere half that nice? – W**

**It’s the only place with a vacancy here. There’s some kind of event going on. – N**

**Really? Do you think you’ll have to stay longer? – W**

Wrench frowns and his brows knit together as he stares down at the screen. He contemplates a week or more without anyone to eat breakfast with or curl up against at night.

**Probably not. Maybe a small chance. – N**

**What kind of event? – W**

**Some kind of Viking festival shit. – N**

**I bet you’d try to drag me to it. I’m glad you didn’t come. – N**

**What? – W**

**I would drag you to it. – W**

**I want to see it. – W**

Wrench’s face twists into a slight pout. That is the kind of thing he’d _absolutely relish_ dragging Numbers to. There’d be really cool Viking ships and hats and lots of interesting beers. Plus, there’d be Scandinavian food that would make Numbers’ stomach curl in on itself. And he could watch the entire miserable event warp Numbers’ features into the world’s pissiest of faces.

**They just finished putting together this giant boat in the middle of the town. Everyone is going on about it. – N**

**That’s so fucking unfair. You have to go. – W**

**You have to go and take pictures. – W**

**Don’t you fucking dare. I want to get this job done and come home. – N**

**I don’t want to go to some Scandinavian fuckfest. – N**

**Please? – W**

**No. – N**

**Man come on. I never ask you for anything ever. – W**

**No dude. Fuck you. – N**

**If you do it I’ll paint the bedroom while you’re gone. – W**

**I’ll even put up that bookshelf you’ve been bitching about. – W**

**I don’t bitch about bookshelves. – N**

**Yes you do. – W**

**All the time. – W**

**Whenever you bring books home you cry about it all night. – W**

**Come on. – W**

It takes a few minutes for Numbers to reply. He’s probably debating it. Numbers _had_ been bugging Wrench for weeks to do the bookshelf, and even longer on the bedroom walls.

**A few hours of Scandinavian fuckfest for a whole day’s work? – W**

**Sounds like a good deal. You should take it. – W**

**Shut up asshole. – N**

Numbers doesn’t respond again for a few minutes. Wrench stares at his phone, waiting for the little bubble to pop up on the screen.

**Fine. – N**

**YES – W**

**On one condition. – N**

**What condition? – W**

**In addition to the bookshelf and walls we’ve got to go look at beds when I get back in town. – N**

Wrench groans and he can feel the vibrations rumble in his chest. He _hates_ furniture shopping with Numbers. Clothes shopping is bad enough as it is. At least Numbers could always throw away ugly clothes or anything he decided he didn’t like anymore. Furniture was far more permanent. If they fucked up, Numbers would never let it go until they finally broke down and bought more. Which would be years of Numbers bitching about the color of the couch, or the height of the coffee table.

Plus, if he was getting a new bed, he would want a new headboard. And with a new headboard, he’d want a new frame and nightstand. And if he got those, then he’d need a new dresser. And if they were getting a new dresser, might as well look at couches. Once he’d pick out a couch, they’d be looking at coffee tables. It would be a huge ordeal that would take all day; filled with Numbers forcing Wrench to sit and lay down on a million beds, chairs, and couches to try them out. And each time he has to find a different word for “good”, “fine”, and “comfy”. To top it off, he knows that Numbers will eventually explode at him for not being “invested” enough or “helpful”, or both. All Wrench wants to do is buy the first relatively comfortable mattress they find, take it home and set it up as fast as possible, so he can fuck his partner into the new mattress and break it in.

**Our bed is fine. – W**

**Our bed is saggy and dents in the middle cause that’s where your fatass sleeps all night. – N**

Okay so maybe it was a little old, but Wrench didn’t mind or notice. But if Numbers _really_ wants a new bed…

**Fine. You win. – W**

**But I want all the pictures. – W**

**You’re going to get like five cause I’ll be there for a total of 10 minutes. – N**

**No you won’t. – W**

**Yes. I will. – N**

**Then no bed and I’m going to paint the walls a different color. – W**

**Jesus Christ! – N**

**Okay. – N**

**An hour tops. – N**

**Three hours. – W**

**1 ½  – W**

**2 ½ – W**

**2 – N**

**Alright deal. – W**

**Make sure to get everything. – W**

**Yeah whatever. – N**

Wrench smiles at his screen.

**I miss you – W**

Wrench types it out. His finger loiters over the send button before he finally taps the screen. He knows Numbers will call him sappy and gross and tell him to shut up. But he also knows Numbers wants and needs to hear it. It’s a while before his phone vibrates in his hand.

**I miss you too. – N**

Wrench feels his heart skip a beat. It’s so rare for Numbers to actually show affection openly without having it poked and prodded out of him.

**I love you – W**

Wrench smiles as he sends it.

**I love you too asshole. I’m going to bed I’m exhausted. – N**

**It was a 3 hour drive… – W**

**I had to get up early to go to Fargo man. – N**

**To pick up the files cause someone forgot. – N**

**I did not forget. I’m not being paid for this. – W**

**I am. Which means we are. – N**

**Not really. You’re blowing it all on that fancy hotel room. – W**

**Fuck off. It was discounted. – N**

**Go to sleep. I love you baby. Good night. – W**

Numbers stares at his phone. His face flushes with affection and embarrassment. He always feels ridiculous when Wrench calls him stupid pet names. Yet, it fills him to the brim with a sort of pleasure and happiness that he doesn’t quite understand why. He stares at the text for several minutes, his heart hammering away obnoxiously in his chest.

Hooking his phone up to the charger, Numbers sets his alarms. He had planned to sleep in a little tomorrow, but now he has to wake up earlier to go to this dumb fucking festival for his asshole partner. Who even wanted to see this shit? Numbers heaves his legs over the side of the bed and decides to take a shower now, rather than in the morning. When he turns it on, he’s overly impressed by the shower pressure. It’s a rare commodity, even when they’re at home. Their apartment only has decent water pressure at certain times of the day or night. Stepping under the spray, Numbers delights in the heat of it. It nearly scalds his skin, but it feels absolutely _incredible._ He spends nearly an hour just enjoying the luxury of a great shower.

When he finally forces himself out of the hot spray (how is it still hot, he wonders) he wraps himself in a towel that feels so amazingly plush and soft. Numbers makes a mental note to ask for a shit ton extra so he can steal them. He blow dries his hair without having his dorky, hit man partner signing insults at him.

While he does miss Wrench, it is nice having a little time to himself. By the end of the case though, his whole being will be screaming for him to go home. He knows that he’s more than likely going to rearrange all the extra pillows up in the middle of the night when he wakes up without a chest smashed against his back and the dead weight of a heavy arm protectively wrapped around him.

Numbers crawls into the overly comfortable bed. Holy shit, he can’t believe this place was as cheap as it was. Well, cheap with all things considered. In the morning, there would be free continental breakfast, and there is two swimming pools, even. He doesn’t plan on mentioning this to Wrench who would probably die from jealousy. He might kill Numbers if he knew he was planning to go swimming without him. Numbers slides under the covers, enveloped in warmth. The hotel room was deliciously cool and the exhaustion from spending several hot hours in a car without the air conditioning starts to catch up to him. His eyelids flutter as he rolls over. It’s a little difficult trying to sleep without the steady sounds of Wrench’s breathing, or the thrumming of his heartbeat in his ear. Sleep claims him not long after that.

 

Wrench decides to build the shelf after telling Numbers goodnight. Tomorrow he’ll move everything out of the bedroom and start painting. He’s not half bad at assembling things; even better if he didn’t spend half the time arguing with Numbers about where half the shit is supposed to go and if he _actually read_ the instructions. He’s sure it’ll only take him an hour at most. He’ll be done in time for a snack before bed.

He pulls everything neatly out of the box and sets up everything in easily accessible, tidy piles. Wrench reads the instructions all the way through before beginning on step one. He feels this is always the best way to do it, while Numbers just wants to charge head on. Sometimes that worked out, but often times it was what caused them to end up storming to complete opposite sides of the apartment and pout in their own respective corners. With relative ease, Wrench begins to assemble the shelf.

Once it was put together, large hands test each shelf’s sturdiness. It seemed to work fine, though he’d only know once he put all of their books on it. He took a quick picture and sent it off to his sleeping partner.

**I’m holding up my end of the bargain. You’d better too. – W**

In the morning, Wrench wakes to cheerful warm sunlight streaming through the curtains. It’s almost nine in the morning and he wonders if Numbers is still sleeping as he gets himself up. _Probably._ After a short, but filling breakfast, Wrench starts to drag out everything from the bedroom, noisily. He doesn’t hear the banging on the walls, but even if he did, it wouldn’t have stopped him anyway.

Everything clutters the living room once Wrench pulls the last item of furniture out. Lining the floor with trash bags, the hit man readies the room for painting. He covers the edges of the ceiling and windows in painter’s tape, before grabbing the buckets out of the closet.

As he stares at the unmarked cans, it reminds the Wrench that he can’t recall what color Numbers ended up deciding on. The older hit man had dragged him around to so many stores, trying to find the “perfect” color, before Wrench had fallen asleep in the car on the way to the fourth store. It was honestly an accident. Numbers had been so pissed for no reason, that he didn’t talk to him the entire way home and stored the cans in the closet before Wrench could even begin to repaint the bedroom. That was months ago, and Wrench was sure he’d asked what color he’d chosen, but he couldn’t remember when or what the answer was. He pries open the cans and looks inside.

His eyes stare into the pool inside the container. Why the hell did he pick _green?_ He never even mentioned that he was interested in the color when they went shopping for paint together. He was mostly hell bent on making Wrench choose the best brown, while occasionally contemplating a shade of burnt orange. He had said he wanted something rich and heavy.

But this green… it was gentle and soft; much like the color of leaves in the morning light after a quiet rain in spring. It was pure and organic and not something Wrench thought Numbers would have picked. Thinking no more of it, with a shrug Wrench dumps the paint into the tray and starts rolling his brush around in it.

A little after nine in the morning, Numbers wakes to his alarm going off. His hand swiftly slams down on his phone, snatching it up and turning off the offending noise. Arms push himself upward, before lifting over his head to stretch out his back. The man blinks away the sleep from his eyes. It’s some kind of miracle, but Numbers doesn’t feel tired or groggy at all. It’s possibly one of the best nights of sleep he’s ever gotten.

After a full breakfast of surprisingly delicious free food, Numbers asks for information on the festival. The woman at the front desk gives him a flyer with a disinterested smile. “It’s not really my thing, but this might tell ya what ya need to want to know,” she shrugs. At least she’s polite, if a bit unhelpful.

Numbers heads backs to his room after putting in a request for more towels and coffee. It only takes a few minutes for room service to run those up to him. He shuts the door behind him; immediately packs the towels away. Wrench will love them just as much as he does.

He gets dressed in clean clothes and grumps inaudibly to himself as he leaves the hotel.

**Going to your stupid fucking festival now. – N**

Wrench wipes paint off of his hands when he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. A grin spreads on his face as he reads the text. Standing up and backing out of the room, Wrench angles the phone and snaps a picture. He barely examines it before sending it off to his partner.

**It’s still a fair trade. Holding up my end over here. – W**

Numbers scans the picture. His partner is standing in front of a half painted wall, white straps from a wife beater visible on his shoulders. He’s so busy staring at his attractive partner that he almost forgets he’s supposed to be buckling his seat belt and putting the car in drive. He takes one last look at it before it strikes him. _Green?_ He forgot he’d picked that color. The wall behind Wrench is mostly painted and it looks pretty decent. He knows his partner wouldn’t half-ass it.

**It’s hot out. Room looks nice. – N**

**Of course it looks nice. I painted it. – W**

**Shut the fuck up. I gotta drive. I’ll text you pictures later. – N**

**I love you. – W**

Goddamn, that man could be so saccharine sometimes. Numbers couldn’t believe how much a little distance could bring out that side of Wrench even more. It softened his scowl only a little. Even so, he still didn’t want to go to this dumb fucking event. He’d just get in there, spend ten minutes taking pictures of everything he possibly could and then send them sporadically over the course of two hours, while getting some lunch somewhere away from the bright ass sun.

The makeshift parking lot was filled with cars that Numbers was hoping to avoid. He was about to ask himself if these people had anything better to do with their time, but he realizes they don’t. It’s a tiny town on a Saturday and there’s a community event going on. Of course they’re all going to be there.

He joins the line for the ticket booth. Waves of hostility must roll right off of him, because no one tries to make polite banter with him. Trying to be as nonchalant as possible, Numbers snaps a stealthy photo of the long ass line.

**This is the shit I put up with for you. – N**

**I hope you’re fucking happy. – N**

**It’s really fucking hot and it’s not even noon. – N**

Wrench snorts at his phone. Even without him being there, Numbers still finds a way to bitch at him.

**Good. Teach yourself some fucking patience while you wait. – W**

Numbers glowers at his phone as he pockets it without another word. _What a dick!_ After twenty long, grueling, hot minutes under the sun without the cover of a tree or tent, Numbers finally pays the attendant.

“You should get more people out here,” Numbers fake smiles at him.

“Well, sir. We don’t have a whole lot of volunteers, right now.”

“Of course not,” Numbers pats the table before begrudgingly accepting an ugly Viking ship hand stamp. He nearly recoiled as fingers brush the skin of his wrist while wrapping a neon yellow band around it. He was never fond of being touched by strangers.

He quickly moves away from the ticket booth and heads into the festival grounds. In the center of the area, there’s a huge replica Viking ship. Numbers can hear and see kids running up and down its decks and playing pirates. Someone should tell them they were reenacting from the wrong part of history.

Numbers takes a step back and lets the ship fall into frame as he takes the shot. Sending it off to his partner after much evaluation, he decides to find himself a beer or two. He makes his way over to a small area where a bar is set up. They’ve actually got a pretty decent selection of crafts and local microbrews. It would have been the highlight of this terrible day if it hadn’t been handed over to Numbers in a fucking horn.

The beer is cold and delicious, but does nothing to quench his humiliation over the object in his hand. He debates about not even showing Wrench, but decides why the hell not. He knows his partner would never want to miss an opportunity to mock him. Holding up the horn and making the straightest of faces, Numbers takes the photo quickly. He clicks send as soon as the picture loads into the message.

**Holy fuck. Look at you. Becoming a Viking? – W**

**Fuck no. – N**

**Why not? Don’t wanna be Beard Eriksson? – W**

Numbers scowls and regrets his decision. He downs half of his beer in a large gulp. There’s not enough beer in the world that can make him drunk enough for all of _this._

**I want one. – W**

**Bring me one home, Numbers the Red. – W**

**Shut the fuck up or I’m not getting you anything. – N**

Wrench has to put the brush down, taking a moment to pull himself together. His partner looks so serious in the picture and so unhappy. He can’t help laughing and the longer he stares, the funnier it gets.

**Come on, please? – W**

**Fine. I’ll see if I can buy it off the bartender. – N**

“How much can I get one of these things for?” Numbers turns and looks at the bartender whose restocking a portable fridge full of beer.

“I think they’re actually selling them down in the vendor stalls? Down by the entrance I think,” he points and shrugs.

“Thanks, man,” Numbers waves his hand dismissively.

“You betcha,” the man turns away, checking the taps on the kegs.

Numbers finishes the beer and leaves a nice tip under the empty horn. He decides he’ll buy the thing on the way out, that way he doesn’t have to carry it on him for the next however long he can manage to stay.

There are only a few kids ducking around under oars on the Viking ship, when Numbers walks aboard. He pulls out his phone and takes a few pictures of the inside. The craftsmanship is actually really well done and he knows his partner would be busting a nut about it right now if he were here. He gets close up on the detail of the front of the boat, where someone carved an elaborate dragon’s head.

Sure enough, once all the pictures are sent, he gets a million messages a second.

**They did such a good job.  – W**

**They picked a good color. – W**

**It’s very authentic. – W**

**The wood is really nice quality. – W**

**Does it smell good? – W**

**How would I know? It smells like fucking wood. – N**

**That dragon head is hand carved. – W**

**Yeah that’s what the sign had said. – N**

**I wish I could be there with you. – W**

**If you were I’d probably be dead from embarrassment ten times over by now. – N**

**You just don’t like having fun. – W**

**Yes I do. – N**

**This is not fun. – N**

**I bet everyone else is having fun. – W**

**Shut up. – N**

Wrench smiles down at his phone, looking back over the pictures. Almost all of the walls are done; just the tops near the ceiling and a bit of the wall with the window are left. It should only take him an hour or two longer.

**I would fuck you on that ship. – W**

**Press you against the wood and spread your legs. – W**

He slips his phone back into his pocket and grins at the thought of his partner’s face flushed red in public.

Numbers shoves the phone deep into his own pocket and tries to write off the redness of his face as just a sunburn. He focuses on anything else but the desire to pop a boner in front of the entire town. Slowly, agonizingly slow, he reads the stupid information card that’s set up beside the dragon masthead. He reads through it once more, until his mind and body are in the clear.

After wandering around and looking at small booths and stalls of random Scandinavian things, sending the occasional image, Numbers decides to get lunch. They’re handing out platters filled with food and Numbers hesitantly takes one. It’s crammed full of things Numbers has never eaten in his life. He picks at it very carefully with a fork and decides to show Wrench before he attempts to eat it. Numbers is about to put a forkful of something nearly clear and jiggly in his mouth before his phone vibrates. He sets down the fork and picks up his phone.

**You’re not going to like it. – W**

**You don’t know that. – N**

Defiantly, Numbers places a bite in his mouth. Regret instantly washes over his entire being. _Holy fucking Jesus Christ._ It’s the most disgusting thing he thinks he’s ever tasted in his entire life. He quickly spits it into his napkin, and desperately tries to wash it down with the free lemonade that just isn’t strong enough.

**I do know that. – W**

**It’s actually really good. – N**

He knows Wrench will see right through him, but the rotten taste in his mouth drives his pride on.

**I’m sure. – W**

Numbers stands up and immediately dumps his plate in the nearest trashcan. He will have to pick up lunch on his way back to the hotel. He feels that couldn’t be soon enough.

Numbers spends the next half hour taking pictures of things he thought Wrench would find interesting and getting useless facts and happy little comments in return. He sends him a few more pictures of himself when he feels he can get away with it, without being judged too harshly.

The sun beats down on the crowd and Numbers decides it’s time to head back to the hotel. He actually managed to stay as long as they had agreed on; mostly. He stops at the vendor’s booth before leaving. When he asks for one of those Viking horns, the lady kindly tells him they’re sold out and apologizes immediately. Numbers scrunches up his brow as debates if he should get Wrench anything else instead.

He decides on a ridiculous Viking helmet. It’ll make a good consolation gift, he supposes.

Numbers stops at a small pub on the way back to the hotel and gets a surprisingly tasty sandwich for his troubles today. He commits the name to memory in case he ever has to come back to this tiny shithole. When his keycard slides through the door and it clicks open, he shuts it excitedly and kicks off his shoes. The only noise in the room is the thrumming of the cool air conditioner and it offers relief from the loud crowd he spent a greater part of the morning in. If Wrench was with him, he might have been less exhausted by it. Even so, crowds always took it out of him.

Not to mention he could still smell the beer and what was probably fish on him.

He showers immediately, washing the festival, sweat, and sun from his skin. When he towels off in front of the mirror he thinks he might have a little sunburn on his nose and cheeks. He probably should have put sunscreen on.

Soft and plush, he wraps the towel around his waist and avoids getting dressed for half an hour. Tomorrow he actually has to do his job and he hopes it’ll be over in a day or two. He doesn’t want to stay much longer in this town, though he’s relishing the hotel and its amenities. But he misses his partner and the daily comforts of his home.

Wrench must be working hard, because he hasn’t texted Numbers back. Though the smaller hit man would be offended if someone were to point out exactly how often he checked his phone. With a demurral resignation, Numbers dresses himself. He hunts down the television remote and turns it on. Thirty minutes nearly go by before Numbers realizes he turned on closed captions out of habit. A smirk pulls his lips up a little as he shakes his head at himself. Even so, he leaves them on anyway; it reminds him of his partner.

Wrench finally pushes the last piece of furniture into place with a grunt. He takes a step back and finally allows himself to judge the color Numbers picked out. When he takes in the whole room, he realizes the color has grown on him. It’s quite handsome and there’s something familiar and warm about it. It matches a lot of the browns that had already found their way into their rooms; the browns that Wrench prefers. He thinks about the walls and realizes they could use a little more decoration. The photos that Numbers had taken and put up are stunning and Wrench adores them. They’re always beautifully taken with a professionalism that Wrench wondered where Numbers had picked it up from. But still, some of the spaces on the wall now looked sad and empty. They’ll just have to add that to their ever growing list of home purchases to make.

Wrench can’t wait until the day they can have a house to themselves. Some day.

The large hit man took several steps back and took a picture of the room.

**I actually really like this color. – W**

Numbers hears his phone and picks it up, checking the text from his partner. The color of the walls matches pretty much everything and he’s sure Wrench will use that in an argument against him when he gets home. But Numbers can’t resist the urge to binge shop for color coordinating bed sheets and rugs. It looks warm and inviting, and Numbers finds himself missing his bed. Even if it was shittier than the one he was currently sitting on.

**Looks really good. You did a great job. – N**

**Got paint all over myself. – W**

The younger hit man sends a picture of himself. Green speckles dot all over his wife beater. There’s a few spots on his arms and hand and one little, endearing one, on his cheek. He can see the band of Wrench’s boxers as his jeans hang low on his hips without a belt to hold them up. Numbers wants to slip his fingers under the elastic.

**You look almost as good as your paint job. – N**

Numbers hopes the awful pick up line makes his partner crack a smile.

**Thanks, sweet cheeks. Gonna hop in the shower. – W**

**Don’t fucking call me that. – N**

**I’ll call you what I like. – W**

**Go take a fucking shower asshole. You’re probably getting paint everywhere. – N**

**Well fuck. – W**

**You’re welcome for the paint job. – W**

**I never said thank you. – N**

**Do you ever? – W**

**Fuck off! – N**

**Wish you were here to join me. – W**

A pang of homesickness resonates within Numbers as he realizes he wishes it too.

**Same. – N**

The phone remains quiet for a while. It feels like an eternity before Numbers hears the phone buzz again. He can’t help the needy little whine that’s pulled from his throat. Wrench is standing in front of the mirror just like the text from earlier, but he’s completely naked. Water drops bead on his flushed skin. His hair is already starting to dry in coppery spikes and fluffy curls. His dick isn’t even hard, but hangs heavy and thick between his legs. Numbers wants nothing more than to feel it twitch in his mouth and throat, or fucking him hard into the mattress.

**Just thought I’d show you what you’re missing. – W**

It doesn’t take long for Numbers’ cock to swell and strain against the zipper of his jeans, begging to be touched. He knows his own hand isn’t what it wants, but it’ll have to do.

Awkwardly with his left hand, Numbers snaps a picture of his right hand around his hard cock. It’s drooling precum, which shines in the picture. Numbers debates about leaving the message part blank but swipes a quick, cheesy line into it while his hand strokes idly at his cock.

**Looks like I’m not the only one who misses you. – N**

Wrench snorts as he reads the message, but he won’t deny that is own dick responds and grows hard as he stares at the picture. He wants to touch it; suck that beautiful liquid beading from the tip off. He wants to feel the vibrations of his partner’s needy noises. He wants to feel Numbers pushing his hips forward and signing pleas, begging for Wrench to swallow him already. For being a man who used his throat so rarely, Wrench was more than capable with it in other ways. A fact Numbers remained blessed to experience.

Wrench sends back an equally attractive shot of his own cock. Stroking gently, he thinks about what his partner’s face must look like right now. He conjures the image of him when he’s needy, flustered, and desperate.

Numbers bites his lip and rubs himself a little faster to the picture of his partner’s cock. His legs spread as if Wrench was there with him. They were more than ready for the large hit man to crawl between them.

**Fuck. My hand is just not as good. – N**

Numbers admits defeat. His partner’s hands were large and soft and had the perfect gentle, yet firm hold whenever they’d wrap around his Numbers’ dick.

**Mine certainly isn’t as tight as your ass. – W**

Numbers’ hand speeds up a little as his dick twitches.

**I could use a good fuck after today. – N**

**Drive home quickly and I’ll let you sit on my face. – W**

Numbers bites back a groan.

**Don’t tempt me. – N**

**Come ride me. – W**

**It’s only been one night and you already need my ass this bad? – N**

**It’s a nice ass. – W**

**What are you going to do without it for a whole week? – N**

**Destroy it when you get home. – W**

**That a promise? – N**

**Yes. – W**

Numbers begins to type something when he’s interrupted halfway through it.

**I want to see you finger yourself. – W**

The smaller hit man stares at the demand, his cock throbbing with each word. He mulls it over for a minute and takes too long to reply.

**I don’t have all night. Just prop your phone up. Take a video. Get on your knees and fuck yourself on your fingers like a whore. – W**

The words jump out at him and sends tingling waves of pleasure across his skin. Fuck, he loves when Wrench treats him like this. It’s embarrassing and goes against his entire being, but that’s what he loves so much about it. He loves handing over the reins and just letting his partner wreck and ruin him.

Only a small grain of pride runs through him and Numbers debates for a very short time sending back a snarky remark to his partner. He knows it would only redeem a little of his dignity and he’d still end up on his hands and knees. He sheds the rest of his clothing quickly and roots around his duffle bag, hoping to find a bottle of lube he never unpacked. Much to his relief, there is one. Snatching up the half empty bottle, he heads back over to the bed and drops it there. With a sharp eye, he finds a perfect spot to prop up the camera that would meet Wrench’s demands. He turns on the extra lights in the room, knowing Wrench will want to see everything. Switching the camera to video, he hits the button and begins to record.

Numbers slides onto the bed and picks up the bottle of lube, spreading it on his fingers quickly. His phone will record forever, but he needs to keep it under five minutes if he wants to send it to his partner. He pumps his cock a little, his eyes looking anywhere but the camera as his face burns red. It’s helping him get into it, but he still finds it oddly humiliating. But in a good way. In a way that makes his cock thick with blood, begging to blow his load.

The small hit man rises to his knees and turns himself around, lowering down onto his left forearm. His other arm snakes around his side. He presses a cold, lubed finger to his hole as he drops his shoulder into the bed, freeing his other hand to spread his ass apart. His finger slips hurriedly into his asshole and it feel small in comparison to what he really wants; inadequate. Within seconds, he slides a second finger in and his asshole opens for it eagerly. A greedy moan tumbles from his mouth and Numbers bites his lips to stifle it. Just because his partner won’t hear it, doesn’t mean the room next to him won’t.

Numbers thrusts a third finger into his ass right after the second. Wrench is going to call him out on how quickly he takes them; Numbers knows it.

 He moves his hand, angling his fingers to try and hit his prostate. It takes a few tries of moving his arm into a better angle and pressing his hips into them before he gets it right. Pleasure jolts through his body, and his dick hangs untouched between his legs, pink and leaking. He nearly blows his load to the thought of Wrench jerking himself off while watching his Numbers fuck himself on his fingers just for him.

With a desperate, little whimper that Numbers would flat out deny he made, he pulls his fingers from his ass and gives his cock a squeeze. His partner is probably getting impatient and would want the video now.

Wrench waits on the other end, hand gliding slowly down his shaft. The phone vibrates on his stomach and he grins as the video file begins to download. It takes a few agonizing minutes, but once it’s ready, the hit man clicks play immediately.

And fuck, what a hell of a sight it is. Lust filled eyes devour the video on his screen, completely enraptured as he watches each finger being shoved rushed and needy into Numbers’ tight, little hole; one right after the other in no time at all. Pressing play once more, Wrench’s eyes watch his partner as his own hand rubs his cock. His wrist flicks a little at the head, catching the sensitive little nerve right under the head.

**Look at you. You look needy as fuck. – W**

**I am needy as fuck. – N**

It’s hard for Numbers to admit, but it’s not like he Wrench can’t already see that.

**So used to taking my cock. Your fingers aren’t enough. – W**

**I would give my left nut to ride you right now. – N**

Wrench snorts. Even now he can’t even hold himself back from being a sarcastic, little shit.

**I want to see you come. – W**

Numbers was already aware of this; knows his partner well enough to know it would be demanded. Wrench never missed an opportunity to watch Numbers get off. Even if he was fucking him from behind, he’d reach down and turn his head so he could see his face as he came hard onto the bed, couch or wall. Numbers’ balls ache from waiting, and his cock jumps and threatens to spill with each feather light touch and slow paced drag over his shaft.

**Fuck ok. – N**

It’s all he can manage to type as he jumps up and arranges the pillows in a pile in the middle of the bed. He sets his phone back up and presses record. Slidding onto the bed, Numbers leans back against the pillows stacked underneath his shoulder. He spreads his legs like a whore automatically and feels that little nudge of embarassament that drives through his body and makes him all the more eager to please. With one hand, he rubs his balls before moving it lower, spreading his legs even wider. His fingers seek out his hole already wet and open from before. With quick strokes, his fingers depserately seek his prostate again as his hand rubs up and down on his dick, his wrist jerking when he finds the little bundle of nerves. The heat and burn of pleasure consumes him like fire as his fingers thrust into the spot over and over. It only takes a minute before he’s unable to stifle a loud groan and he’s spilling hot and thick on his chest and stomach.

Slowly, he slides his fingers from his ass once his hole stops spasming around them. The euphoria begins to die down a little and with a grimace, his other hand slicks through the cooling cum that’s already starting to mat his stomach and chest hair.

He gets up and stops the video with a pinky finger and sends it off, before heading into the bathroom.

Another vibration after what felt like an eternity of wating gets Wrench’s attention. His fingers fumble quickly to download the video, and just as before, his partner’s got his fingers shoved up his ass in no time. Wrench bites his lip, watching the man’s face, flushed and huffing. His eyes occasionally catch the camera and Wrench can’t see it, but he knows they’re clouded with lust; pupils blown and nearly consuming the entire deep brown irises. He’s seen it enough to know.

When Numbers’ chest and neck reddens, Wrench knows he’s about to come. His hand twitches and tries to move faster and his eyes droop before finally squeezing shut as he releases onto himself. His lips part in a moan Wrench wishes he could feel the vibrations of against his hand.

Once more, he watches the video, matching his partner’s rhythm. His spills hot into his hand, cum dripping down his shaft and sticking to his palm. Snapping a picture, he sends it to Numbers when his mind starts to work again.

**Want me to eat it off? – N**

**God I miss you. – W**

Numbers bites his lip, licking them as is he could catch a taste on them. There was not much more he loved than when Wrench fucked his mouth fast and hard and spilled on his face and lips and demand he clean it off.

**So do you miss me yet? – W**

**Not really. – N**

**That’s not what your videos said. – W**

Numbers glares at his screen. So he said in less words, but Numbers _knows._ Wrench is calling him a little cockslut, while being somewhat polite about it. Even though he knows it’s true, to his core he does, he feels defiant.

**You can’t hear what my videos said. – N**

**That’s a low blow. – W**

Wrench laughs at his phone, knowing his partner doesn’t mean harm. At least, not a lot of it anyhow. Wrench picks the first piece of fabric off the floor and wipes his hand clean.

**I just wiped jizz on your pillow. – W**

Numbers lets out an indignant noise.

**You better be fucking joking. – N**

**Not even a little. – W**

**I will kill you. I will seriously kill you when I get home. – N**

**I look forward to you trying. – W**

Numbers partner is sich a smug, cocky, bastard. He seethes a little before taking a deep breath. He knows Wrench is just kidding, at least he’s pretty sure he is.

**When are you coming home? – W**

Numbers’ heart melts a little.

**I told you, in a week or less. Depends on how easy this guy is to crack. – N**

Wrench wants to text him that he’s worried, but he knows Numbers will take it the wrong way if he says it outright. He’ll think Wrench is trying to say he’s incompetent, which might carry over to the job. Numbers might feel like he’s got something to prove. Wrench doesn’t want that. So he’s got to find a way around it.

**I’m sure you’ll get him talking fast like you always do. – W**

Numbers slides into clean boxers and reads the text. It takes a minute, but he reads between the lines. His chest swells a little. Wrench knows exactly the right things to say and it makes Numbers feel strangly light. The feeling creeps through him, an odd juxstaposition to the feeling of heavy desire from only moments ago.

**Yeah sure. – N**

Wrench smiles.

**I’ve got to show and go to bed. – N**

**What are you? My grandma? – W**

**Shut up asswipe. I have to get up early tomorrow. – N**

**Sure. Right. – W**

Numbers rolls his eyes at his partner’s text.

**Alright fine. Good night. Love you. – W**

Numbers squeezes his fingers around the phone for a moment, just rereading the words. No matter how many times Wrench signs it, or types it, or even says it (especially says it) out loud in rare moments, Numbers still can hardly believe it.

**Say it back dickhole. – W**

**Fuck you. – N**

**Say it. – W**

**No. – N**

**Please? – W**

Neither wants to say why they both need to hear it. It could be the last time they say it. And it’s always in the back of their minds whenever they’re on a case. The feeling more intense when they’re separated.

**I love you too. Go away. I have to get some sleep. – N**

Wrench doesn’t text him back, desprite wanting to tease him again. He soothes his nerves, promising himself that Numbers will be fine. If things get rough, he’ll pull back and have Wrench out on the next bus.

He rewatches the videos once more, taking his mind off of things for a bit. He can’t wait for that sweet ass to come back home.

 

Curling up against the extra pillows that night, Numbers finally falls asleep after running over his plan for the tenth time. He’ll be fine and on his way home in no time. Just a few days from now, he’ll be handing over that hideous viking hat he bought Wrench. As his mind drifts out of consciousness, it dawns on him that Wrench is going to put it on and make Numbers ride his cock while wearing it.

His last thought before sleep claims him is the crushing realization that he fucked up.

 


End file.
